by Jory Sherman
“Harvey, it’s fifty dollars a day, three hundred and fifty dollars the week.”
“That much?” Lew said, looking at Harvey, whose lips began to twist into a knot as he squinched his eyes to a pair of slits, as if he were in pain.
“Son, I’ve seen rents on places like mine go for better’n five hunnert dollars a day in the boom. And ain’t nothin’ around here such as we have rentin’ for less than a hunnert dollars a day.”
“In the winter?” Lew said.
“Winter, summer, makes no difference.”
“Well, if you’ll take fifty dollars a day and rent it to me for a week, I’ll pay you cash right here and now.”
The man held out his hand, palm up.
“You take it, Harvey. I got one more box to load. And make him sign. You make him sign a piece of paper.”
“Aw,” Harvey said as Lew counted out three one-hundred-dollar bills and then laid a fifty on top.
Harvey counted the money twice, then folded it and slid it into his pocket.
“You clean the place up when you leave now,” Harvey said. “And if you stay the winter, we’ll settle up come spring. Here’s the key. You lock up when you leave and put the key under that big rock yonder.” Harvey pointed to a large flat rock under the small front porch.
“Fair enough,” Lew said.
He was glad to see the people leave, and he waved at them until they were out of sight. Then he went inside. The cabin had a large front room, nicely furnished, with a rug on the floor that wasn’t too worn. There were two large bedrooms, a kitchen, and a storage room. It had a stone fireplace and a cookstove. The cupboards had been cleaned out, except for an old box of baking soda. He found a penny in one of the drawers in the kitchen. And there were two pairs of snowshoes hanging from a peg in the storeroom.
“Did you find us a place to stay?” Carol asked when Lew returned to Hardy’s less than an hour later. He had stocked the rented cabin with staples, moved some of the cut fire-wood into the house, put kindling next to the kitchen stove, and made sure there were matches both in the kitchen and in the living room.
“Yes, a nice place.”
“Where you got them?” Hardy asked.
“Edge of town. Don’t know the people’s last names. Harvey and Ruth.”
“Them’s the Lees. He’s a hard-rock miner, still looking for gold, I reckon. What did he soak you?”
“Not much,” Lew said, grinning.
“That man Harvey has a heart of pure gold,” Jack said. With a wink.
“Thanks for letting Carol stay here,” Lew said. “And you’re still without a horse.”
“No, the man picking me up is bringing me a horse I bought. Like that trotter out there. Missouri-bred, good legs, good bottom. A beauty, really. I’ve already named him. Want to know what it is?”
“Sure,” Lew said.
“Wetzel,” Hardy said.
Carol looked puzzled.
“My middle name,” Lew said. “The Zanes come from Ohio, Zanesville, Ohio, to be exact. One of my kin, Betty Zane, had a woodsman friend named Lew Wetzel.”
“Is that where you got your name?” Carol asked.
“There’s more to it than that, but yes. There were rumors that Betty was more than a friend of Wetzel’s. Some say she had a child by Lew Wetzel, and the Zane family took him in. Somewhere in that tangle, I was born, and maybe Wetzel was my grandfather. I don’t know. I got the name, the Zane family got the scandal.”
“That’s a terrible name for a horse,” Carol said.
“Ain’t it, though?” Hardy said. “But it’ll remind me of my rescuer, Lew here. And Lew, I want you to know I hold you in the highest respect. Carol here told me that you gave her the money I gave you for renting Leroy. You could have kept the money for yourself. Nobody would have been the wiser. That was a mighty decent thing to do.”
“The money belonged to Jeff’s kin, not to me,” Lew said.
“Still, mighty decent of you. And that job offer I made you still stands. I’d like you to come with me when we ride to Pueblo and Santa Fe.”
Lew shook his head. “I’ve got a heap on my plate right now, Jack. Give the job to somebody else. I don’t work easily in harness.”
“No, I guess you don’t. A man has to follow his own star, I reckon.”
“Yes, he does,” Lew said, and he missed the glow in Carol’s eyes when she looked at him from off to the side. Hardy caught the look, though, and he smiled at her.
“You be careful, Lew,” Hardy said. “Miss Carol, I wish you good fortune. You and your kids. They’re fine children. I enjoyed meeting them.”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Hardy. I’m sure they enjoyed meeting you, too. You certainly kept them entertained.”
Lew waved good-bye to Jack and beckoned for Carol to follow him as he rode toward town. Jack waved back and there was a wistful look on his face, as if he might not see any of them again. They met Jack’s friend on the way into Leadville. He was leading a tall black trotter wearing a gleaming new Santa Fe saddle, full-rigged, double-cinched, with a rifle scabbard. The saddle was inlaid with silver trim that sparkled in the sun.
“If you spot Don McDermott when we get into town, Carol, I want you to point him out to me. Don’t be real obvious about it, but let me know, will you?”
“Why? What are you going to do?”
“I just want to know what he looks like,” Lew said.
“I don’t believe you.”
Lew shrugged. “We’ll eat lunch and then I’ll take you to your new quarters.”
“You can change the subject all you want, Lew Wetzel Zane, but you can’t fool me.”
“Who’s trying to fool you?” he said, and ticked Ruben in the flanks, sending the horse ahead of her and breaking off the conversation.
They ate lunch at the Board of Trade Saloon. Many inside gawked at the woman and her two children. They were seated at a table in a far corner away from the rough-talking men at the bar and sitting at the gambling tables. Lew saw no other women except those that plied patrons for drinks and offered their favors for the afternoon. He ordered steaks and full fare. The children were delighted, and Carol ate as if she had never tasted food before.
Lew scanned the large room as he ate, trying not to show his keen interest. But he wanted them to be seen and talked about. He wanted the word to spread throughout Leadville that a woman and her two children, a boy and a girl, were there. He wanted to draw Don McDermott out in the open, if he could. If not, he was ready to hunt him down and call him out.
More people gawked at Carol and Lew as they rode through town toward the rented cabin.
“See him?” Lew asked.
“Who?” she said, a teasing look in her eyes.
“You know who.”
“Why, I can’t imagine.”
“You’d tell me if you did, though. Right?”
“If I knew who you were talking about, I might.”
“This is serious, Carol.”
“Oh, it’s serious, is it? Then, no, I haven’t seen anyone I know. And I doubt if you have either.”
As they passed a dry-goods store, Carol gasped.
She whispered to Lew.
“Don’t look now,” she said. “But there’s Don McDermott, standing in front of that store. And he’s looking right at us.”
“Which one is McDermott?”
“The big one. He’s taller than the others. He’s wearing a red shirt and yellow galluses.”
Lew slowed Ruben and scratched the side of his face while he took a look.
He saw the man. More than that, he saw the resemblance to Ed McDermott, the man he had seen in the Double Eagle in Pueblo. They weren’t twins, but they were both big men and they resembled each other; the heavy dark brows, the square jaw, the broad shoulders.
“I see him,” Lew said out of the corner of his mouth. “Just keep riding and pay him no mind.”
“Aren’t you going to shoot him?” she teased.
“No, Carol. I�
��m going to shoot you if you don’t settle down and stop taking this as some sort of joke.”
“Why, Lew Wetzel Zane, whatever gave you that idea? I’m as serious as you are.”
They passed the dry-goods store and headed toward the rented cabin, past other dwellings and wagons rolling out of town.
Lew looked back once they had cleared the commercial district.
No one was following them.
Not yet.
But he knew he would run into Don McDermott again.
And he had a hunch that Carol knew it, too. She fell silent until they reached the cabin.
They dismounted. Lew unlocked the door and the kids rushed inside. Carol lingered for a moment, put a hand on Lew’s arm.
“Promise me you’ll be careful, Lew, will you?”
“I’m always careful, Carol.”
“I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you on my account.”
“No, ma’ am.”
“And thanks. Thanks for taking care of us. I just wish . . .”
“What?” he said.
“Nothing.”
She rushed past him, into the cabin. Lew stood there a long time, looking back up the road. He felt odd. Carol had stirred something in him that was strange and new. Something he remembered from what seemed long ago, a feeling he’d had for another woman, Seneca.
He felt a burning sensation, a soft warmth on his arm where Carol’s hand had touched him. He gulped in air as if to overcome a sudden dizziness, and walked back to the horses, led them around back where the Lees had a small stable that had housed their wagon and mules.
From inside the house, he heard the children laughing and the soft sound of Carol’s voice.
Lew felt a tingling in his veins as if he had touched something metal in a winter room after brushing his hand across a blanket.
26
LEW FINISHED CLEANING JEFF’S WINCHESTER. HE STUFFED the magazine full of fresh cartridges, worked a shell into the chamber. He handed the rifle to Carol.
“When I’m not here,” he said, “you keep this rifle handy at either the front or back door and the shotgun at the other door. Keep the shades down. Don’t go outside unless you really have to. If you use the privy, or the kids do, make sure you have a weapon in hand. Keep your eyes open. Keep the doors locked.”
“Aren’t you going to stay here?” she asked. “There’s plenty of room.”
“No. I don’t think that would be proper. But I’ll be close by.”
“What does that mean, ‘close by’? Are you going to sleep on the rocks out there?”
“I’ll be back and forth. I’ll take a room in town.”
“Lew, you don’t have to do that, really. I’d like you to stay here. I’d feel a whole lot safer, and so would the kids.”
“Carol, let it be, please. You’ll be all right if you do what I tell you. Be careful. Stay inside as much as you can.”
“I’m scared. What you say to me scares me.”
Lew looked at her. She didn’t look scared, and he doubted that she was. This was a woman with plenty of grit. If she was scared, she hid her fear well.
“You don’t have to be scared. I’ll be watching over you. From a distance.”
“You want Don McDermott to come here after us, don’t you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you do. You’re using us as bait.”
Lew shook his head. “That’s not true. I wouldn’t do that. Now, I’m going into town to have a look around, rent me a room, and get settled. Maybe I’ll be back for supper. I’ll bring you some meat that’s already cooked so you don’t have to bother with that stove.”
“It’s a nice place. They have a water pump in the kitchen so I don’t have to go out to a well, and you’ve put in plenty of wood. Bring whatever you want to eat. I’ll fix us a nice supper.”
“Good,” he said. “Now, Leroy is unsaddled, and there was some feed out there. I’ll get more. We won’t be here more than a few days, maybe.”
“You mean we’ll be here until you kill Don McDermott, don’t you?”
“I didn’t say that either.”
He said good-bye to Keith and Lynn. Carol acted as if she wanted to kiss him at the front door, but he got out before she had the chance. He wanted her to kiss him, but he was afraid he might not want to leave if she did that. Besides, she was a married woman and he might be taking her all wrong. A man could read too much into a woman’s behavior, especially if he was lonely or hadn’t been around a good woman for a while.
Lew rode Ruben into town and straight up Harrison Street. He looked for McDermott, but he was no longer in front of Beeker’s Dry Goods Emporium. People were still moving out, their wagons and carts full, and he wondered if Leadville would soon be a ghost town. At least, he thought, there should be plenty of hotel rooms to let. He wanted to be in the main part of town where he could see people and they could see him.
He found a livery stable and rented a stall with grain. The place was called Hard Rock Stables, and the man who owned it was a grizzled old-timer named Harry O’Keefe, with rust-white hair, bowed legs, and two days of wiry red stubble on his Irish face.
“You can only have the stall for a week; then I’m boardin’ her up, headin’ for Pueblo.”
“How much?” Lew asked.
“Dollar a day for the stall, fifty cents for the feed. Curryin’ and groomin’ is extry.”
“How much?”
“Two bits.”
“Sold,” Lew said with a grin.
He walked to the Rocky Mount Hotel and took an upstairs room, paying way too much for a one night’s stay. But he put five dollars on the counter and signed the register.
“You can get it cheaper by the week,” the clerk said.
“I probably won’t be here but a night or two.”
“Just sayin’.”
“You open all winter?”
“Mister, we never close. We just seal off some of the upstairs rooms that we can’t heat and hope some prospectors come down out of the hills and take up board here. There’s always a few diehards who stay too long at their claims and get caught by the snow. Once they do get caught, they’re mine until the spring thaw.”
“I want a second-story room that looks down on Harrison Street,” Lew said. “And your name, if you please.”
“Leonard Ramsey. And that would be Number 202, just up the stairs, Mr. Zane.”
“A question for you, Leonard.”
“Feel free.”
“Do you know a man named Don McDermott?”
“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Why do you ask?”
“He a friend of yours?”
“He a friend of yours?” Leonard wasn’t going to budge one inch.
“Don’s a friend of a friend in Pueblo. Told me to look him up was I in town.”
“Who’s the friend in Pueblo?”
“You probably don’t know him. Wayne Smith.”
“Why, no, I don’t know him. But he was through here once, seems to me. I know Don, though. Just about everybody round here does.”
“Where does he play poker or drink his whiskey? Can you tell me that? I’ve got time to look him up.”
“Just what business are you in, Mr. Zane?”
Lew thought fast. Leonard seemed to be a step ahead of him at every turn.
“I’m a freight hauler,” Lew said. “I come up here to haul ore down to Pueblo.”
“Who for?”
“Jack Hardy,” Lew said. “Know him?”
“I should say, yes, sir. Well, he must have had a good year is all I can say. Now, what was it you wanted to know about McDermott?”
“Where I can find him.”
“Well, he plays cards sometimes at Cy Allen’s Monarch Saloon, or at Hyman’s. He makes deliveries for the apothecary at Sixth and Harrison and for Beeker, who owns the hardware store. I don’t know where he lives, but I heard he stays at the Silver Nugget Hotel over on Fourth Street.”
“Thanks, Le
onard,” Lew said, and took the key to his room, walked upstairs.
He had a good view of Harrison Street. He could see the Opera House from his window, if he leaned out, and some of the saloons where he planned to look for McDermott. When he left the hotel, he walked the streets, getting the lay of the town. He stopped in at both Hyman’s and the Monarch, but didn’t see the man he was hunting. He went by the apothecary and finally, to the hardware store. He walked out back to the loading dock in the alley.
A man was unloading tools from a wagon. Emblazoned on the side was a legend: BEEKER EXPRESS. The tools were pickaxes, hoes, shovels, and mauls. They did not look new.
“Those for sale?” Lew asked.
“When they’re cleaned up some. Had to take ’em back from some fellers what didn’t pay their bill. Go inside and talk to Roy Beeker.”
“I will. Say, I thought Don worked here sometimes.”
“McDermott? He quit today.”
“Quit? How come?”
“I don’t know. One minute he was outside, taking him some sun, and then he come in and told Roy he was quitting. You a friend of his?”
“Sort of. I didn’t see Don at the apothecary’s, either.”
“Likely he quit working for Wilbur, too.”
“So, where might Don be now, if he’s not working?”
“He’s got him a gal over on Guadalupe Street. A Mex. They’s a cantina there where this gal works. I think her name is Conchita, or something like that.”
“What’s the name of the cantina?”
“La Huerta. Kind of a dump, you ask me. Full of greasers and hard-luck prospectors. You don’t want to go there if you don’t really have to.”
“Well, thanks.”
Lew walked over to Guadalupe Street and started looking for La Huerta. The street was lined with false-front stores with Spanish names. It smelled of baked goods and cheap wine. A lot of the stores were closed, and those that weren’t were filled with gaudy trade blankets, Mexican pottery, sausages, wine bottles, and silver jewelry that looked handmade.
At the end of the block, Lew saw the cantina and he could hear music pouring out from inside. Lively guitars, bleating trumpets, drums, and droning basses blasted out a Mexican song. As he approached, some men outside stared at him. They looked to be Mexican and they looked to be drunk. As he started to go inside, one of the men held out his empty palm.
